


Colours Of Your Voice

by vaderina



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Chromesthesia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Graves Whump, There be a dragon ahead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-17 02:23:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11265963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaderina/pseuds/vaderina
Summary: He didn't have a name for it and had never discussed it with anyone. All Percival knew was that he could see sounds as strange as that seemed. It used to help him have an edge over opponents in the field and in terms of promotion but after Grindelwald he wasn't so sure.





	Colours Of Your Voice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chibicheeberson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibicheeberson/gifts).



> Not beta read.  
> Characters do not belong to me - only the typos and mistakes.
> 
> For chibicheeberson who asked for Graves whump. I got somewhat distracted by ideas. Hope this is okay!

It had been an asset and a blessing before everything. The smallest noise and he’d see it. The shuffle of a footstep would send a quivering blanket of darkness out in the corner of his eye. A crack of someone stepping on something was a jagged line of yellows that guided him towards hidden criminals. The hushed whispers of barely audible ambush plans sent smoky grey tufts from the hiding place. Percival had never had reason to tell anyone his secret, that he could see sounds. It was something he could keep to himself, it gave him an edge on cases and when trying to prove himself worthy of promotions. It just became a habit to never disclose it. He remembered his parents pointing out distant noises and he’d respond with “I see it!” with the enthusiasm of a child. His parents would always frown at him and tell him he could hear, not see sounds. They never understood or even tried to listen to his explanations as they patted him on the head and put it all down to having a creatively imaginative child.

Except it was never that simple. Sure, spells had their own natural colours when cast but nobody else knew about the absolute blackness that spilled down the chin of the death curse caster. Nor the flow of agonizing jagged edges of red that stained lips red with the cruciatus curse. The worst though was the all-encompassing purple smoke that he could see envelop the victim of an imperius curse. Thankfully he didn’t have to often see those often even in his job. Still, the sharpness of yellows that went with cutting curses and the sickly pale pinks of stunners were common in his life. The funniest thing was that so few common spells were coloured black, white or brown. It meant he was able to dress in those colours and not look down and see a curse on his arm.

Voices were unique too. Picquery with her honeyed bronze tones which wafted through the air. Then there was Tina with her autumnal hues and her sister Queenie with her fitting pastel palette. There were those with less pleasant voices who Percival tried to subtly avoid. The nasal greens of Abernathy particularly jarred on his nerves for some reason. The guy was perfectly nice but his voice just made him shiver in the worst of ways. Then there was Grindelwald. His voice coated the world like a filthy oil slick.

Percival’s world boiled down to the red of the cruciatus curse dripped like crystal shards into the murky pools of Grindelwald’s voice. The clanking of his chains became an almost static in his vision as he writhed on the floor. His own screams coloured the air a pathetic brown which he tried to tamp down on. His whines still left misshapen bubbles of almost golden yellows in the air. He lost track of time, lost track of colours. It seemed that blues and greens no longer existed. Just the putrid murk of rotten flesh of his gasps when he was alone and the unbearably cruel dark rainbow when Grindelwald deigned to visit him.

He wasn’t sure when the visits stopped but it didn’t matter. His world was stained, the echoes of sneers had him closing his eyes yet the colours still came. It was no longer a case of seeing sounds, his mind conjured them up even when he tried to blind himself from the world.

The soft scuff thud of grey footsteps forced Percival to open his eyes. They were a more washed out colour than Grindelwald’s proud stomps of solid tones. The door creaked open with an orange squiggle and then someone was beside him. The body was warm and the green bowtruckle which skittered across his body in blessed silence. The jangle as the chain fell away flashed across his vision but Percival focussed on the soft but rough wool coat below his cheek. The steady thrum of the heartbeat he could hear sent clear shockwaves through the room but it was a comforting distraction from his aches and pains. When the voice quietly spoke to him it blossomed his world into sea greens and blues and Percival almost cried with relief. A glance up at the other man revealed eyes to match the voice even with the small specks of muddy gold he saw in his tone.

Life after his release from captivity continued. He was released from medical where the hushed oranges of his healers filled most of his days. Aurors came and went on visits, filling his day with bright stories which reeked of the soured grey tones of guilt. Even Seraphina’s normally gorgeous voice was tinged with the rust of sadness. The azures of Newt’s stories and quiet little huffs even when he was meant to be silent became a staple of his world. He was there the day Queenie brought him a pastry. The golden browns of the perfectly baked and glazed treat soured his appetite in a harsh reminder of his pitiful descent into begging and screams at the hands of Grindelwald. Before he could control himself the pastry blackened to a crispy carcass of its former perfection under his wand. Newt watched this all passively and returned to his work silently once satisfied that Percival was safe.

He became intimately familiar with Newt’s nuances in tone from then on. The pale sky blues of a higher pitched gasp when Percival undid his belt, the rumbling navy blues when Newt backed him against the wall, eyes dark with lust. There were the soft greens of his laughter and the olives as he oozed a certain calm around his creatures. The lime of his cry of pain when a creature hurt him though Newt would always deny it was the creature’s fault. It was a colour Percival grew to hate independently of his own history. A colour which meant that the man he had let into his heart was suffering.

The dilapidated house they were investigating had been a trap. As soon as the small team had walked through the door it had slammed shut and refused to open. Inside, the rooms had been transformed into a veritable maze. Each room had multiple exits, some double back and others held unimaginable horrors. There were curses lined up do slice through the first person to open the door, jinxes that rendered the caster mute thus unable to cast a spell. Some rooms held creatures which got progressively bigger and more dangerous the deeper the delved into the complex. Newt was thankfully on hand to deal with the beasts, his words dripping with the olives of calm though it was spiked through with the jades of anxiety. What must have been near the final room to the exit from the infernal maze contained non-magical traps. They thought they’d got them all, the trapdoor that fell into a spiked pit, the net that descended on the unlucky victim when someone stood under it. Each writhing struggle would have tightened the net further until it crushed its victim. They even managed to avoid the bear traps hidden under the walkway of hay. No magic could detect them so it was slow going as they manually worked their way through the room. They were so close to the door, the peach huffs of relief coloured the air. It made Percival miss the dark brown whoosh of air before the thickening purple of a dull thud clouded his vision at the same time the air was knocked from him with a brief moment of agony which ran along his back. He lay on the floor winded and wondered why he couldn’t feel more pain. Newt’s hands were on his back immediately, pushing down on what was surely going to be one giant bruise then the hands disappeared. Except Newt hadn’t moved. The pressure was back on the ache and Percival let out a small grunt of pain. Despite his best efforts to remain calm Newt’s voice was laced with emerald panic.

More hands helped him turn over and Percival watched with detached fascination as hands moved his legs yet he couldn’t feel anything. He knew it should have worried him yet the mix of neons that filled the air as everyone else fretted around him made him numb. He was moved and propped against a wall hear the door, voices drifting over him as he focussed on just breathing and being. The discussion around his was low and frantic. They couldn’t carry him, he’d only weigh them down. If they were attacked then he’d be an easy target or someone would have to keep him safe thus reducing their already small numbers. After a short and heated discussion which left the edges of Percival’s vision a bruised blue Newt bullied his way into staying with him. The others opened the door and carefully crept through.

After a moment Newt sat down next to him with a small smile. The ball which had struck Percival in the back swung gently not far from them. In the distance the indigo-blue of a roar sounded. He knew that roar, had seen it in the war, on the front line. It was the roar of a dragon. He looked at Newt who stared back at him. While Percival didn’t want Newt to leave he knew that the aurors would need to help of the magizoologist to calm the dragon. The orange of the kiss to his forehead burnt behind his eyelids as Percival didn’t want to see Newt go. The silver clunk of the door closing behind Newt’s fading grey footsteps sounded so final. From behind the closed door he couldn’t hear the dragon any more. He let his head thunk against the wall. A few days back in the medical wing and he’d be back on his feet again, they’d dealt with worse there before. A broken back was almost routine for them surely.

His musings were interrupted by the loud thudding of marbled greys as a group of footsteps drew closer. Percival forced his eyes open and watched as a number of individuals poured into the room, masks firmly covering faces and robes hiding any hint of gender, let alone identity. Tiredly he raised his wand to defend himself even though he knew it was a lost cause. Yet he still couldn’t just lie down and take the inevitable defeat like a beaten dog. He let his firs curse go and watched as the first of the group went down with a full body bind. From there on it was a haze of colours, shrieked ochres and yelled indigos clashed horribly in his vision. A cutting spell sliced too close to his cheek and he felt the tell-tale sting followed by the trickle of warmth down his jaw. He was getting tired. His back throbbed where he could feel pain and his mind was starting to drift. Percival was outnumbered, his opponents fresh whereas he’d already drained his energy trying to get through the maze. It wasn’t a fair fight and he knew it was only a matter of minutes now before he missed an incoming spell or one overpowered his protective shield.

Almost distantly he watched a spell strike his shield with a metallic rose petal pink fizzle. There was no noise as his shield cracked and crumpled buy Percival fancied he could see the electric blue fractures all the same. The crash of the door flying open with a silver explosion was over powered by the cobalt roar of a dragon which charged through. He almost wanted to laugh when he saw Newt on its back like a deformed tick. Part of him desperately wanted to cheer them on and tell Newt he looked ridiculous. After the timely arrival of the dragon the group were easily dealt with and Newt helped fashion a sling on the dragon’s back for him. Throughout setting it all up Newt kept up a constant chatter of cerulean overlapping with lapis. He explained about the dragon likely being raised in captivity so being a lot more receptive to human wishes and how once it had recognised the help offered was eager to exact revenge on those keeping it captive. Of course Newt also apologised for leaving him behind and returning almost too late. Those were accompanied by wavering crests of teal. As the dragon slowly made its way out of the maze Percival decided that falling asleep was warranted after all he’d been through.

He woke to the soft cyan and royal blue of humming which was blotted through with mossy greens like half dried ink splashed with water. Once he could pry his eyes open enough to see Newt with paper in hand as he hummed to a tune only he could hear Percival smiled. He may be back in the medical ward for a little while again but this time he had the warm colours of Newt to keep him company.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on tumblr - I'm @ladyoftheshrimp


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